


Patience

by Spada2014



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Relationship(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:04:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2733596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spada2014/pseuds/Spada2014
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is heartbroken when Fenris walks away from her after their first night together, but comes to understand something she had not realized before about who Fenris is- something that helps her decide how to face her loss. (Takes into account events and some of the dialogue from the beginning of Hawke's romance with Fenris in "A Bitter Pill.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     "This has to be the most wretched, disastrous, misadventure!" Hawke cried out in frustration as Varric unlocked the door to his room at the Hanged Man.

     "Right. The Deep Roads expedition by comparison was merely…eventful?" Varric asked, somewhat peeved. "Because, you know, brotherly betrayal, loss of a family member to the Wardens thanks to the Darkspawn, are a downright success compared to…killing a Tevinter mage who wanted us all dead and freeing condemned slaves. If only one of us had fallen down a cliff, or chipped a nail, now THAT would have been-"

     "Stop it, Varric. We're both tired. And edgy."

Hawke stumbled into the spacious room and dragged the heavy wool blanket off Varric's bed. She threw it in front of the fireplace and collapsed over it, on the ground.

     "I cannot move another inch. Everything hurts."

     "Can't make it up the hill at all?"

     "I don't want to go home right now. Let me stay here."

Varric leaned Bianca next to his bed.

     "I don't mind any gossip that might begin to run the rounds once the fine clientele of this establishment catches wind that you spent the night with me."

     "I don't either. It adds to the pot. Let them talk."

She had turned away and hunkered down with the piled up blanket. He sighed heavily and walked over to the fireplace. He reached down and tossed a couple logs into the smoldering fire.

     "Any idea where he went?"

She deliberately avoided his gaze.

     "Who knows? I've been fueling this affection all by myself, it seems."

Varric nodded, making his way to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, unfastening his heavy, muddy boots, and kicked them off over the frayed bedside rug.

     "What do you mean?"

     "He gives me very little to work with. Perhaps that should be my cue to back off and let him be. Apparently, I only make things worse."

They both fell silent as a quick rap sounded outside the door. They exchanged wary looks. It was the middle of the night.

     "Varric, it's Isabela. Is Hawke with you?"

     "Yes. Now go away."

She rapped on the door again, just to spite him.

     "I'm going to let her in," he grumbled.

     "You'd better, or she will keep at it until she gets tired and decides to pick the lock."

He opened the door to find Isabela staring at him.

     "Is she alright?"

     "A night with me and she will be fresh as a rose," he said sarcastically.

     "Hawke, do you want to sleep in my room?" Isabela called out to her.

     "What? And risk being mistakenly stabbed by some vengeful mark- or worse!- some eager paramour?" Varric teased.

     "I won't be needing my quarters tonight- I will be…elsewhere. She might be more comfortable in my room than on your dirty floor."

     "You forgot to mention on my dirty blanket."

     "I am fine, Isabela. Thank you," Hawke replied tiredly.

Varric and Isabela traded glances.

     "The expedition?"

     "Let me see. We found the Tevinter mage who was hunting Fenris. She unleashed a bunch of well-trained guards on us and toasted our asses with fire bolts, but we managed to disarm her. And then Fenris proceeded to 'disheart' her. Oh, and we saved a slave girl. And even more spectacular, Hawke is giving her employment."

Isabela shook her head reproachfully.

     "Always bringing home strays. At least one thing you have in common with that daft Anders."

     "So, to answer your question, it was a disaster."

Isabela blinked.

     "What?"

     "People are trying to sleep here. Take your banter elsewhere," Hawke interrupted.

     "Fenris. He stormed off after some very unbecoming behavior. Not even a thank you," Varric tilted his head towards Hawke.

     "Typical of men to change once they get what they want."

     "That's the problem," Varric stated. "Hawke was hoping he wanted what she was willing to give..."

     "Hawke, dear, you'll get over that striking, strong, handsome elf with the most magnetic eyes and alluring lips. Alas, you will never find out how far those markings go down into his trousers…"

Hawke did not reply. Varric looked at Isabela and shrugged.

     "Blight! She didn't not even tsk me. Is it really that bad?"

     "We are both approaching a delusional state from exhaustion."

     "Do you want me to fetch Anders?"

     "See? Delusion already. You're actually being helpful and nice."

Isabela stepped away from the door.

     "I'll check in again tomorrow."

She cast a parting glance at Hawke's huddled figure.

     "Take care of her."

     "I am on it."

     "As long as you are not on _her_."

     "Don't you have to go swindle some poor sod somewhere?"

She turned away with a tart grin.

     "Varric?"

     "What?" he cried exasperatedly.

     "I think Bianca has a scratch."

He slammed the door shut against her laughter. Hawke heard him walk around the room, open the wardrobe to hang up his coat, unfasten his belt, and finally, halt before his bed. It creaked as he slipped between the sheets.

     "Night-" he called out, exhausted. "Or morning. I don't know. Don't care. Ah, shit," he groaned.

From the moment she met Fenris, she felt they were talking circles around each other. She was ever mindful of what she said around him. The smallest things appeared to bring out his stormier disposition. He was endlessly suspicious and mistrustful. What was it that drew her to him? She had never been the romantic, dreamy type, not even when younger. She liked clarity. _You do, or you don't. You say what you feel and think honestly. You don't play games._ She had no patience for mercurial relationships. She felt a pang of sadness.

_I miss Bethany. Oh, Maker. I could tell her these things and she always knew what to say._

She couldn't help herself, she thought. This was beyond her control. She loved Fenris. To be fair, she reasoned, she loved all her friends— it was just how she was: loyal, helpful. But Fenris had been different.

 _I see something in him- something beyond this sadness that fills his being. He has a noble heart. A beautiful spirit- anyone else who endured the violence he experienced would have emerged broken. And yet, he struggles to find his path, his place in this world._ She realized with a start: _We are not that different, he and I. But I knew kindness. I have had love. I had a family that taught me that only I could set my limitations. But not Fenris. I cannot imagine what it was like being told day after day that the only purpose of his existence was to serve others without discernment. And yet he fights to be whole, to be his own person._ She squeezed her eyes shut, the sting of tears unpleasant. _I just want him to be happy. I just wish I could help him. I wish he could see what an extraordinary man he has become._

She replayed the events of their incursion through her head again and again. They had all been horrified when they had run into the exsanguinated body of an older elf. As Fenris explained the purpose behind the gruesome ritual, the anger barely contained behind his words, she could feel him change, escape further into his own head, further from them, into his own rage.

They had come across a young elf girl— Orana — slender and delicate. As she stared at the corpses littering the courtyard, she asked, quietly, if they had come to be her new masters. Fenris bristled at her words, shouting, "No!" The poor girl had appeared utterly confused. She spoke of her father's death calmly, but Hawke could see her tremble as she recalled the events.

 _What is it like to have to stash away your emotions because you aren't allowed to have them? Because they are inconvenient to others?_ she thought sadly.

She had placed all her coin- a pouch- in the girl's hands, but she knew, from her lost expression, that it would not help and the thoughts nagged at her.

 _She will die. She will not know how to survive. She will fall prey to people who would exploit her innocence, she will be eaten alive. We did not free her for this!_ As they began to run down a narrow corridor, she abruptly turned around and ran back towards the elf.

     "Orana!" she cried out. Aveline, Varric, and Fenris watched her run to the girl. "Orana! I would like it if you came to work for me!" Orana's bright eyes widened.

     "Yes, of course. I can cook and clean and—"

     "I know you will do well."

Hawke gave her explicit directions, her signet ring, and instructed her to walk straight to the gates, present the signet, and go directly to Hightown, to the Hawke estate. Bodahn and her mother would know how to take it from there. At this point, they did not flinch at yet another odd request from her delivered at their doorstep. They saw Orana out of the courtyard, to the cave entrance, and watched her disappear down the road. Aveline placed her hand on her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly.

     "She'll be alright now. We cleared this path coming in and once she gets down to the main road leading to Kirkwall, she'll be among my guards and all the traders making their way back and forth from the city. She won't be bothered. You did a good thing, friend."

Fenris glowered at her.

     "I had no idea you were in the market for a slave."

Hawke squinted at Fenris in confusion.

     "What? What slave? Fenris, I am going to pay Orana to work for me. If she decides at some point to move on to something else, she will be free to go!"

 _How dare you?_ she thought angrily. _Do you think so little of me still?_

She noticed slight embarrassment cross his face.

     "You intend to pay her then?"

     "Yes. She'll be working for me and earning an honest wage for it."

     "Then… That's a good thing."

He turned on his heels and began marching back towards the passageway into the building. Hawke shook her head in disbelief.

And it had gotten worse from there. When they had finally defeated Hadriana's guards and brought her, literally, to the ground, she had hoped Aveline would be the one escorting her to the gallows. Fenris negotiated an uneasy truce in exchange for information, but one look at his furious eyes upon hearing about his sister, made her realize that any interference would be unwelcome. He had reneged on his word to Hadriana, startling them with a display of brutality. As Hadriana's corpse lay on the cold stone ground, she approached him with concern.

      "Do you want to talk about this?"

      "No!" he shouted. I don't want to talk about it!" He appeared to be mocking her in his fury.

Varric and Aveline wisely backed out of the chamber. He went on about how the story about his sister was likely a trap, how Danarius had probably set things up that way.

_Is this fear, Fenris? To have had nothing for so long and suddenly have a faint glimmer of who you are? What do you fear?_

She reached out and placed her hand gently on his shoulder.

     "Maybe we should leave," she offered calmly. He shook her hand off.

     "You saw what was done here," he accused. "There is always going to be some excuse for mages to act the way they do," he continued. It came back to mages, to magic, to the magisters. She listened to him in quiet bewilderment. "What has magic touched that it hasn't spoiled?" he spat.

 _Cruel_ , she thought. They would never see eye to eye on that. In his mind's eye mages were the source of all misery. And to him, they probably were. But to her…She thought of her father, his warm smile, his calm voice and wise words, or her beloved sister and how she often risked herself for the sake of others. Hawke was who she was because both of them had held her to a higher standard. He must have sensed the hurt he'd dealt her, since he rubbed his forehead and announced sullenly that he had to go.

She, Varric, and Aveline hobbled down the path back towards the main roads and hitched a ride with a wine merchant transporting his wares in a wagon to Kirkwall. Every little jolt on the road made her body ache. The three remained silent during their short ride and she was grateful to Aveline, who payed the man for his help and waved Varric and her through once they crossed the city gates.

     "They're with me on personal matters affecting the Guard," she explained in a tone filled with authority.

She had no idea where Fenris could have gone and part of her was angry that she even cared. He'd acted horribly despite their willingness to help him. What else did she need to do to show him that he had in her a loyal friend, someone he could depend on? The crushing realization came to her suddenly:

_Maybe he doesn't want any of this…this friendship, this closeness I keep thrusting at him. Maybe I've got it all wrong. I got what I deserve. I'm just a busybody, trying to make everything right. But right according to whom? I got it all wrong. I made it all worse. I don't know him at all. Here I thought I was helping him. Here I thought I had what he needed. I am an idiot. A huge idiot._

She buried her face in the blanket, but lifted her face slightly, in disgust.

     "For the love of Andraste, Varric! Even my Mabari's blanket smells better than this!" she shouted.


	2. Chapter 2

     "I'm going to share with you the real reason I stay here," Varric explained, with a glint in his eye as he produced a plate with a heaping helping of sausages of different kinds. Hawke stared at the small pool of grease lining the bottom. "The breakfast here is to die for," he grinned.

 _Or to die of_ , Hawke thought to herself.

     "It's Kirkwall's best kept secret, the breakfast at the Hanged Man," he declared approvingly. "I managed to save you an extra portion from this morning." He sat down at his writing desk and stabbed a link with a small dagger. He bit into the sausage and Hawke could see his face transform with delight.

     "Thank you, but I don't have the stomach for it. I slept for most of the day and I think I am going to head home now, before it gets dark," she told him, as she attempted to restore some order to the room. She folded the blanket neatly and lined it on his bed and proceeded to collect her belongings. She did not feel like wearing her heavy armor. Everything ached. It had been a difficult fight, she remembered.

Varric accompanied her to the door.

     "Promise me one thing," he said to her as she slipped her cinquedea sword in the sheath hanging horizontally over the small of her back. "You will not stand outside staring at Fenris' estate for more than a minute."

She smirked.

     "I'll go straight home," she stated, raising her hand in semblance of solemnly giving him her word. "Thank you, Varric. You're too good to me."

She saw concern in his face, but he tapped her arm in a playful manner.

     "All true. Now I am going back upstairs to finish eating some sausage," he whispered. "Note that I am keeping my voice down, lest there be a misunderstanding and Isabela get word that she has competition!" he winked.

She made her way hurriedly through the streets as merchant stalls began to close for the evening. She did not want to be caught wandering alone at night, not when she ached as much as she did. She wove her way through the modest crowd and made her way up to Hightown. She deliberately avoided the most direct route— the one that would have planted her directly in front of Fenris' door, and instead circled the large courtyard leading up to her home. A small lantern flickered at the entrance.

 _I have so many good people watching over me,_ she thought gratefully, recognizing Bodahn's thoughtfulness. _My solace lies there._ She reached inside her vest for the key and when the lock finally rolled back into the door, she could hear Ursol barking cheerfully behind it.


	3. Chapter 3

     "Messere, the Captain of the Guard is here to see you," Bodahn announced. Hawke thanked him, pulled her chair away from the dinner table and nodded to her mother.

     "Excuse me," she said amiably.

     "Of course, dear. Ask Aveline if she has had dinner yet. Orana made more than enough. I think I'll go to market with her tomorrow. The poor dear is a very decent cook, but she doesn't have a good eye for calculating amounts."

     "I think that's a splendid idea, mother," she smiled. Orana had been there for two days only and had already become her mother's protégée. She was grateful for the distraction; it kept conversation between them light. They spoke almost exclusively about domestic affairs or her mother's plans for Orana: something about buying her a proper wardrobe—with a specific concern for good undergarments— teaching her etiquette and the logistics of running a well-stocked kitchen. Her mother was quite determined and Hawke felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl.

_Well, I certainly do know from where I get this impulse to fix things for others,_ she realized.

She found Aveline kneeling in the foyer, scratching a happy Ursol behind the ears.

     "Aveline, you know we don't stand on ceremony here," she declared. "Besides, mother has a plate holding a small mountain of food awaiting you inside."

     "Thank you, Hawke," she smiled warmly. "But I did not come by on a personal errand."

_Direct and concise. I should run off with you, Aveline. It would spare me much heartache._

     "What can I do for you?" she asked.

Ursol was sprawled on his back, his tongue contentedly hanging out of his mouth.

     "I need your help," she said apologetically.

They had their routine down pat. She would ask why she couldn't take care of it with her guard, Aveline would riposte with something along the need for discretion, then she would curse a bit, and Aveline would try to appear undaunted, but her face would be red. That night, she did not feel like any of it.

     "Just tell me where to go," she mumbled.

     "Aren't you?…"

     "No."

Aveline frowned.

     "Are you alright?" she tilted her head and stared at her. "Did you get hurt the other night?"

     "I am fine. A bit bruised but healing well."

     "That's not what I meant."

She did not reply and Aveline, mercifully, did not insist.

They went to the docks where Aveline wanted them to observe a man she suspected was smuggling lyrium to Templars. _Her hunch was right, of course. Aveline is always right about these things._ Matters became more complicated when it appeared that a few rogue members of the Coterie were involved and abruptly matched up to collect their earnings. Just as she and Aveline were about to burst out of the alley they had huddled in to to ambush the smugglers, three members of the Coterie emerged from a house nearby, accusing the other members of betrayal and attempting to blackmail their way into a share of the profits. A fight soon erupted and Hawke blocked Aveline from rushing in.

     "Let them thin out the crowd. We'll get what's left."

Once the last three men were standing, Aveline drew her sword and rushed out. The men nearly jumped out of their skins at the sight of the tall and muscular redhead running towards them. Two fled the opposite direction and one lunged at Aveline. Hawke chased the other two, downing one with a dagger sent soaring into his back and cornering the last one by a set of stairs. She dragged the cowering smuggler to Aveline, who by this time had managed to summon a patrol to assist with the scene.

     "Thank you, Hawke. We apprehended the criminals and disrupted the ring."

     "There will be more, you know, now that there is a nice vacancy just waiting to be filled," Hawke warned her.

     "I know," Aveline said with a frown. "We'll be ready, though. I am sure the Order will appreciate the details not getting out in the open."

     "May I be excused now?" Hawke asked with mock politeness.

     "Yes. Thank you— again."

Hawke began to make her way towards the steps. She heard Aveline follow her.

     "Forgive me for prying, but have you seen Fenris at all since that night?"

Hawke shook her head.

     "Have you checked at his estate?"

She sighed deeply.

    "Don't think I haven't wanted to. But I imagine the last thing he wants is me, hovering and fretting over him. He made that very clear."

    "I don't know that he is able to think clearly about anything right now. I just hope he hasn't gone off to do something stupid."

Hawke felt a pang in her chest.

   "If Fenris has decided to go off on his own, to do Maker knows what…What can I say? Honestly. He is a free man," she said quietly. One of the guards called out for Aveline.

   "In a moment!" she called back. She turned to Hawke again. "Do you want an escort back?"

   "No. It'll be fine." She noticed the skeptical look in her friend's eyes but took her leave regardless.


	4. Chapter 4

The night was cool and crisp and the sea air ruffled the walls of sprawling ivy along the old mansions lining up the path to Hightown. Thankfully, it had been an uneventful walk and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the Hawke estate as she turned the corner. She opened the main door and swiftly locked it behind her. She half expected Ursol to come bounding up to greet her in the small garden as he often did, but the night was quiet. He'd taken to bedding in the same room as Sandal, with whom he'd established a little society of mutual admiration. She made her way towards the entrance when she sensed slight movement behind her. She turned around rapidly, only to see Fenris, sitting on the garden bench, leaning against the wall as if he had been waiting for a while. He rose to meet her.

     "I've been thinking about what happened to Hadriana. I took out my anger on you…Undeservedly so. I was…not myself. I'm sorry."

     "I had no idea where you went. I was concerned," she managed to say after a brief silence. It was the truth.

     "I needed to be alone," he explained. He began to tell her about Hadriana, how she tortured him: she humiliated him, starved him, and pulled him out of his slumber constantly, all out of spite…and cowardice. Despite his skills, he was unable to fight her back because of his status, and Hadriana knew it. His eyes were downcast as he spoke, but she could sense that familiar anger building up. But there was something else she could sense— his profound grief. He expressed some regret over not keeping his word, but his anger had been too much to bear; he could not forgive her. She offered him some words of consolation, but he wouldn't have it.

     "This hate…I thought I had gotten away from it, but it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me…It was too much to bear."

 _Let me bear it with you, then_ , she thought sadly, _and it won't be such a hardship._

He noticed the pained look in her eyes and must have misinterpreted her intent. He stopped abruptly.

     "Aah. But I didn't come here to burden you further," he stated apologetically.

_How do I get through to you? How can I help you understand?_

Hawke watched him turn away from her and felt panic rise inside her. Despite her better judgment, her hand shot out and grasped his arm.

     "You don't have to leave, Fenris," she pleaded. The markings on his skin surged with energy, as if incensed by his anger. He whirled around, and taking her firmly by the arms, backed her away from himself and into the wall. His skin crackled from the burst, but it quickly dissipated. He refused to look her in the eyes, but loosened his grasp.

 _My words seem to make things worse anytime I try to mend things between us. If I can't tell you how I feel, if the words ring false because words hold such little currency with you, because you know how easily promises and oaths can be broken, then let me show you, let my acts speak for me_ , she thought.

She moved towards him, but did not break his grip. At that moment he appeared lost, almost tired of himself. She met his gaze with resolve and leaned in, unexpectedly, kissing him fully on the lips. He tensed from the surprise, but did not pull away. Before he could react, she rapidly stepped around him and pushed his back against the wall, covering him with her body, seeking his lips with hers. His breath quickened and he kissed her back, hungrily, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her even closer to himself. It was inebriating, the desire that overcame her. It was not enough, she thought, her hands gently caressing that face she had loved for so long. They broke away from their embrace, breathlessly. She met his intense gaze and entwining her fingers in his, silently guided him into the foyer of the great house, up the stairs. He followed her to her bedroom.

She lead him to the large, canopied bed. She quickly shed her coat and vest as he reached out for her, tugging her back to him by her shirt. His hands fumbled with clasps, seeking out her skin beneath the collar with his lips. She found herself momentary flummoxed by the many straps tying his vest together and she caught the expression of amusement on his face as he contemplated her puzzled look. He began to help her, and as he did, she started to kiss him tenderly, carefully, so as not to hurt the etchings on his skin, on his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his mouth, his cheeks, his ears and down his neck. She helped him slip off his heavy vest and undershirt, tossing them on the ground. The lyrium etchings ran down his chest, abdomen, and disappeared beneath his belt. He caught her staring at them and for a moment he looked away, as if ashamed. She brushed her fingers over his chest and he closed his eyes. She gently pushed him onto the bed, straddling his hips with her legs. She leaned over him and caressed the markings on his chest softly.

 _I love every inch of you. Don't you dare be ashamed of yourself_ , she thought.

He cupped her face and drew it back to his, seeking her mouth again, more urgently, his hands tugging at the wraps around her chest. He caressed her bare skin, burying his face in her hair, his breath warm against her neck. She could feel her heart pounding and wondered if he could feel it, too. She climbed away from the bed for a moment to remove the remainder of her clothes under his watchful gaze. She stood before him, completely naked.

_I'm yours._

She felt a shiver of pleasure run down her back as he reached for her, his eyes feverish with desire.

When she awoke, she knew she hadn't been asleep for very long. It was still night, she could tell from the crack between the curtains. She turned over to find the bed empty. She sat up on the bed feeling a slight confusion that rapidly crystallized into dread. She found Fenris standing before the fireplace. He was fully dressed, as if ready to rush out the door. Her mouth felt dry.

     "Was it that bad?" she cried, startling him out of his pensive stance. He turned to her sheepishly.

     "It's not…It was…fine!" he blurted out. She found herself arching an eyebrow at him.

Fine?

     "No…" he continued, slightly exasperated, "that is insufficient. It was better than anything I could have dreamed," he stated pointedly, holding her gaze.

     "Your markings," she guessed. "They hurt, don't they?"

     "It's not that," he admitted. "I began to remember…my life before…Just…flashes." He paused for a moment before raising his hands in frustration. " It's too fast…I cannot do this!"

Hawke swung her legs over the bed, intrigued.

     "Your life before? What do you mean?"

     "I've never remembered anything from before the ritual. But there were…faces…words. For just a moment I could recall all of it…" his voice trailed off. "And then it slipped away."

     "Don't you want to get your memories back?" she asked, genuinely intrigued. He sighed and began to pace slowly before the fire.

     "Perhaps you don't realize how upsetting this is. I've never remembered anything…And to have it all come back in a rush…only to lose it…I can't! I can't…" he concluded sadly.

     "We can work through this," she offered reassuringly. His face clouded and he looked at her sadly.

     "I'm sorry. I feel like such a fool. All I wanted was to be happy," he lowered his head. "Just for a little while." He began to walk towards the door. "Forgive me," he murmured.

She watched as he disappeared beyond the doorway.

 _This might kill me if nothing else manages to,_ she thought.

She waited for the sunrise at her window, over the many towering walls of the city, wondering if she had done anything wrong. Nothing came to mind as she replayed the evening, pausing at different meanings, wondering if she was correct in how she interpreted them. They had made love twice during the night, unable to keep their hands off each other. She had never imagined him to be so gentle, so vulnerable, she thought, with a hollow ache in her chest.

 _Why_?


	5. Chapter 5

     "The city is so big," Orana confessed, clutching the tray against her chest. "Our home in Tevinter was outside the city and I never got to go anywhere beyond it until my former mistress brought us here."

     "How are you faring?" Hawke asked. "Do you feel alright?"

     "Oh, yes!" she quickly replied. "But I do miss Poppa and the others…I have trouble sleeping at night sometimes."

Hawke looked at the elf and nodded.

     "I have a friend who is a healer. Would you like to meet him? He may be able to help you feel better."

For all of Anders' exasperating faults, she had to admit he had a lovely bedside manner and infinite kindness for those in need.

Orana waved her hand shyly.

     "I will be fine!" she smiled.

_Fine. That word again. How much is hidden behind that stupid, overused word?_

     "I can't make you go, Orana. It is your decision," she sighed. The girl stared at her in confusion.

     "Are you displeased? I will! I will go!" she quickly agreed. Hawke leaned back in surprise.

     "No…no, Orana. I just want you to be well, but you have to be the one to decide."

She looked at Hawke with a anxious demeanor.

     "Do you want me to go? I can go right now, after I finish my chores!" she insisted. Hawke shook her head. Her mother finally interrupted.

     "Orana, I would like it if you accompanied me to the healer. He makes an excellent herbal infusion that helps with the ache in my hands and I just realized I am almost out of it. If you feel like it, you can speak to him, yes? We'll stop by the tailor on the way home and pick up some linens. I need to repair the curtains in the guest room. Oh, and don't forget to bring some coin to pay the healer, if you decide to use his services," Leandra added helpfully. The girl's expression changed immediately. A radiant smile covered her face and she slipped away happily. Her mother looked at Hawke with a pleased grin.

     "Yesterday I took her to the market and I noticed she was admiring a hair comb. I asked her if she wanted it, and she shook her head, acting as if it was nothing. Then I realized something…this poor child has never been given the opportunity to express anything but subservience. She believes her needs are the least important thing in the world. Everything about her existence has been about serving others and not bothering them with her own desires. I was tempted to buy the comb for her as a gift, but understood I'd be doing her disservice. So I called her over, pointed at the comb, and asked her how much money she had from what you had given her— I'm teaching her how to budget her earnings, too—" her mother confided. Hawke concealed a grin. "And she had enough on her to buy the comb. I told her, 'You could buy that comb with your own money, if you wanted to, you know,' and I left her standing there by herself. Wouldn't you know she met up with me moments later with the comb in her hair. I said, 'That's your comb, Orana. You earned it with your work. Isn't that nice?' Anne, she was beaming. It brought tears to my eyes. That darling girl never had anything truly of her own- she never thought she had the right to own anything. I swear, she was walking a little taller through that market. I'll take her to see Anders this afternoon."

     "You know he won't charge her."

     "Then he'll have to accept a little donation."

     "Mother, at the rate you are going, Orana is going to be broke by the end of the week," Hawke chuckled.

     "Then I'll give her a raise!" Liandra said bemusedly. "I am getting old. These little precious moments give me joy, so I am going to indulge her a bit." They sat in a calm silence, picking at the remainder of their meal.

     "You know," her mother finally continued. "Change is terrifying. Her entire world came crashing down and now she is away from all that is familiar to her— for better or for worse— and asked to reinvent herself completely. It can't be easy, my love. We have always been proud and free and yet, we were almost crushed too, under the weight of change," she said pensively. Hawke had no doubt she was thinking about her father, Carver, Bethany, and their first year in Kirkwall. "Such is life. Life is change. All I can do for her is offer my help, my guidance, and most of all, patience. I know there will be days she will want me to decide everything for her, when she'll be overwhelmed by all the choices and all the uncertainties. It is not easy. The secret is patience."

Her mother's little speech sparked something inside her.

 _Patience_.

She rose from the table.

     "I'll ask Bodahn to take care of dinner tonight, so you don't have to rush home from your adventures," Hawke told her. She leaned down to kiss her mother on the cheek. "Thank you, mother."

     "For what?" she replied, perplexedly.

     "Your good wisdom, Serrah," she said with theatrical deference. Her mother tossed her napkin at her playfully.

 _Mother's right._ She rushed up the stairs, feeling revived. As she stared into the mirror, she thought of Fenris. She remembered all the times he seemed ashamed of himself, of who he had been.

_You stubbornly go through the motions, but you do not believe you deserve happiness. I know that now. You fled from me, from the joy we could continue to share because you do not feel you can claim such a thing. I see how hard you try to make peace with all that has happened to you, but I cannot pretend to understand all your suffering. And I cannot fix it for you. All I can give you, Fenris, is my love…and my patience. And I can bear it if you never reach out for me again. I will respect your choice if you leave this city…as long as you are healed. As long as you are whole. I want you to believe in yourself._

It was as if a weight had been lifted from her. She changed her clothes and on her way down the stairs, stopped at one of the bookshelves to select a book. She clutched the leather-bound tome in her arm, entered her mother's room, planted another kiss on her forehead and declared her a genius. She was feeling so lighthearted she went as far as encouraging her to invite her uncle for dinner.

     She then went into the kitchen and informed Bodahn about the dinner plans: "Make Ferelden stew for all of us!"

She slipped several coins in his hand so he could shop for the odd and odorous ingredients.

     Bodahn grinned, "Good King Alistair taught me the recipe himself, back in the day, when I made camp with him and the Hero!"

Sandal gleefully clapped his hands, getting Ursol excited. She turned to Orana and noticed the comb in her hair.

     "What a striking comb! It suits you very well!" she complimented her. Orana nodded respectfully, but she could see the giddiness in her eyes.

She walked out the door into the midday light and walked a few minutes down the road to Fenris' estate. She knocked on the door, tapping out the sequence they had agreed upon, and waited for what felt like an interminable moment before she heard the latch on the door rise. Fenris stood before her, his eyes wide.

     "You? I thought…After what I said…"

     "Ready for your lesson?" she smiled, shaking the book at him. "I promised I'd teach you and I always keep my word. I brought you a slightly more accessible book— the language in the Shartan one is very archaic. Let's save it for when you are more advanced with your skills. This is one of my favorite adventure stories— it's one of the very few books we brought from Ferelden. I think you'll enjoy it, too."

He stepped aside, ushering her in, slightly mystified, as she entered the gloomy mansion.


	6. Chapter 6

     Aveline addressed the group of drinkers assembled at the Hanging Man.

     "I am afraid I need your help and discretion."

A collective groan was heard at the table.

     "I'm sorry, Aveline. So very sorry, " Isabela offered insincerely. "I do wish I could go gallivanting through town with you, but I need to confer with Anders on something of the utmost importance."

     "You do?" Anders asked suspiciously. Isabela glared at him.

     "I actually do!" she snapped, reaching into her corset and pulling out a small glass vial filled with a dark, murky, viscous liquid. "I just happened to… obtain… this fascinating poison through an… acquaintance. With only a few drops a man will be fulminated to death. With fewer still, a person's vitals will be slowed to offer the mere illusion of death. The problem," she continued, as Anders curiously took the vial from her, "is that I don't know how many drops I need to obtain either scenario."

Anders sniffed the poison and then, unceremoniously, dumped it between the floorboards beneath the table.

     "Anders, you bastard!" Isabela hissed as they all burst out laughing.

Aveline cleared her throat.

     "Varric, I know this mission will be of interest to you. It concerns the latest contraband of falsified spirits."

Varric slammed his goblet down on the table.

     "I am IN! Those vermin keep delivering piss poor quality brandy that has given me the worst headaches."

     "And Hawke, they have established a front in Lowtown. They're harassing… poor widows…and children...No... orphans!"

Hawke laughed.

     "Aveline, you are getting better at this. You actually plotted this out, didn't you? Fine. I am in, too."

Hawke glanced at Fenris, who had been staring pensively into his cup.

     "Won't you come with us, Fenris?"

All fell into an expectant silence as he looked up.

     "Me? But-"

     "I am sure there are evil blood mages involved, too!" Hawke added colorfully.

     "Yes!" Aveline exclaimed, "Terrible business."

     "Indeed. Tell him, Varric!" Hawke laughed.

     "The contraband is so shitty it can fuel blood magic," Varric explained.

     "Now that's just foolish nonsense, " Merrill added matter-of-factually.

     "Go with it, Daisy," Varric grinned, taking a swig of his ale.

Fenris' expression softened as his eyes settled on Hawke.

     "How can I say no? I do like coming along with you."

Merrill sat up in her chair interestedly.

     "Fenris, are you in love?"

Varric nearly spat his drink out and Hawke felt her face turn crimson. Aveline bit her lip while Isabela grinned delightedly.

     "Drinks and entertainment!" she whispered to Anders.

     "Why do you ask?" Fenris replied coolly.

     "You have tied a red sash to your right wrist— that's a popular tradition that began with the Dalish, don't you know? It means you are devoted to the one you love and can be with no other. And look!… You are wearing Hawke's family crest on your belt, too." Merrill paused as she pondered her discoveries. "Fenris! Are you in love with _Hawke_?"

     "I thought that was some kind of bandage, for a wound," Anders quipped, with slight disdain.

     "Over my armor?" Fenris retorted with annoyance.

     "Right. Well… Contraband! Lowtown! We need to head over now if we are going to catch them red handed," Aveline continued.

     "And red assed," Varric patted Bianca affectionately.

     "I think it's very sweet," Merrill smiled approvingly at Fenris.

He took a sip of his drink and looked away, disconcerted.

     "Shall we go?" Hawke tossed a coin on the table. She had to get out of there, before her heart burst.

     "Have fun!' Isabela called out sweetly. "I still need to discuss some private business with Anders…"

     "Yeah, right. You mean some _privates_ business," Varric chuckled.

     "Put the salve on it three times a day. I told you already," Anders sighed.

Hawke made her way to the door as the others continued with their lighthearted banter.

     "Let's go," she signaled to Fenris. He quietly pushed away from the table and headed towards her. She watched him, trying not to stare at the sash on his wrist. He had been wearing it ever since their night together. She hadn't made anything of the sash at all before then, but Merrill's words moved her.

     "Are you sure you still want me to come along?" he murmured contritely.

     "I do," she said gently.

     "Thank you for the book," he said. "It is very thoughtful of you."

     "You are welcome. And do your homework. Flattery won't get you out of it, you know," she teased.

 _Patience_ , she thought, contemplating his face. _One day you will believe you are worthy of happiness. I know you will. And I'll be here, by your side, to see that day in_.

She smiled brightly at him and he timidly smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote "Patience" after playing Dragon Age II a few months ago. Although I enjoyed the game, I had a lot of trouble wrapping my head around that strange three-year hiatus between Hawke and Fenris. I thought to myself that for the two of them to remain so emotionally invested in each other after what transpired between them...it had to be a serious mixture of love, faith...and patience. Perhaps even a little suspension of disbelief if you're on the skeptical side... So that's how "Patience" came about.


End file.
